Knife'sEdge
by TreeHugger
Summary: Set during the Battle of Dagorlad. King Oropher lays a heavy charge upon his Master Archer before the siege of Mordor begins.
1. Default Chapter

Knife's Edge  
By  
TreeHugger  
  
Disclaimer - I don't own the canon characters. They belong to the Tolkien Estate. Tanglinna, Bronadui, Arasceleg, Heledir, Filigod, Orthelian, Ovorglir, Faelthir, Riwmegor, Celair, Cubell, Auriell, Brenillass, Thindalagos are my own creations.  
  
Author's Note - Amdir is another name for Malgalad the King of Lorien, found in "Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn."  
  
I am well aware that there is a moratorium on character death, but as this is a war situation, some of the characters in this tale will have to die for the sake of Middle Earth, and they will not all be the canon characters that we all know died at Dagorlad. I am so very sorry, but there are casualties in every war. :(  
  
Thank you to my beta, the wonderful alliwantisanelfforchristmas. I like green forests . . . I really do. ;)  
  
Also a big, heartfelt thank you to Dragon_of_the_north, Katharine the Great, and Ubiquitous Pitt for reading this chapter beforehand and giving me the encouragement I needed to actually post this tale. Thank you for taking this humble character of mine into your hearts. :) Well, not always so humble.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I'm so tired of being here  
  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
  
And if you have to leave  
  
I wish you would just leave  
  
Because your presence still lingers here  
  
And it won't leave me alone.  
  
These wounds won't seem to heal  
  
This pain is just too real  
  
There's just too much that time cannot erase.  
  
~ from My Immortal by Evanescence c. 2003 Wind-up Entertainment  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Chapter 1 - A Charge Laid  
  
It was a cold and deadly sound, the ringing of metal on metal, as he drew the long sword from the scabbard that rested across his knees. The leather-wrapped hilt fit nicely in his palm, the silver metal of the blade shone like a string of diamonds. His eyes slid along the delicate tracery of letters which flowed along its length, spelling out words of power and protection. Celair-Dagnir it was named: Bright-Slayer. He closed his eyes as if in sudden pain, the long slender fingers dancing over the word Celair, never quite touching the chill metal. Just as suddenly his lips thinned, and he exhaled, standing in one fluid movement, laying aside the embossed scabbard. The sword swept up in a graceful arc, then down in a swift economy of movement. He went through the motions of this lethal dance, his lean body silhouetted against the flames as he performed the various techniques taught to him by Riwmegor, his father-in-law and Sword Master of Oropher's kingdom. Every time they halted in their journey here he did this without fail, as though this discipline of body and weapon was the only thing that kept him from falling into greater despair and wrath.  
  
All about him, sitting or standing by their campfires, were the elves of the Woodland Realm. In the midst of their camp was the green tent of Oropher, their king. His banner stood before the tent's flap, a flutter of rich green and silver in the fitful breeze. The elves watched their Master Archer in the fire's glow, bright eyes filled with worry and sorrow as the dark whispers winged about the Greenwood camp that night beneath the ash- filled sky. Whispers that the archer would seek death on the morrow when their first major battle with the Shadow would take place; whispers that he no longer wished to remain in this life, and would actively set about to obtain his release from it.  
  
The elves would glance at one another, shaking their heads as they polished their own swords and sharpened dagger points, checked bowstrings and arrow fletching, mindful of these things necessary for their survival.  
  
"I beni-galad o in cuil (The light has gone from his life)," they would murmur in low voices shaped by sympathy. "In long e pennin na dae (He walks his path in shadow)."  
  
As they watched silently with sorrow etched on their fair faces, Tanglinna continued his sword dance, his silvery eyes narrowed and devoid of all expression but for single-minded concentration.  
  
A raven-haired elf studied him, his eyes riveted on the silver blur of Tanglinna's sword. "Estelon tur tolath erin celeg rovalath (I hope victory will come on swift wings)," he said softly. "I gelaidh calen an paned ammen tolan bar (The trees are calling for us to come home)."  
  
A tall young elf called Bronadui, with a spill of rich brown hair bound back in a thick braid and only newly made a warrior, shook his head sadly, his pale grey eyes never leaving the archer's face. "What has he to go home to?" he asked in a low voice, causing the other elf to turn and look at him, for this one seldom spoke. "Despair has taken him, Arasceleg. I understand that it is very hard to overcome such an emotion."  
  
"Despair will haunt us all before this is over," Heledir, another young warrior, said with a glance at his younger brother. "None of us will escape this unscathed." He felt that Filigod was too young to be here with the other warriors, though he was the same age as Bronadui who had just spoken. He studied the younger elf's spill of pale hair, braided as Bronadui's and Tanglinna's were. The grey eyes shone brightly, almost too brightly. They had seen the forces of Amdir of Lorien decimated by the enemy in the marshes as they pursued Sauron southward, and they knew not what to make of this unforeseen tragedy. True, in the end Sauron had retreated into Mordor, but at what price to the Alliance? Half of Amdir's folk had perished with him, and it was a severe blow to them all, but mostly to those remaining elves of Lorien and to Oropher's own Silvan folk. Even now the Alliance was camped near the entrance to the enemy's black land, the first assault on the Shadow's dark fortress planned for the morrow. Nay, Filigod should have stayed home to comfort their mother who would not understand if either of them returned without the other. Her grief would be so great that Heledir wondered what would befall her if they both fell in this conflict.  
  
"Aye, we will all live with despair after this," an older elf echoed as he moved to sit cross-legged beside Bronadui. There was not one of them who would not be personally touched by this conflict with the Shadow. Their lives would never be the same; things were always changed after war. He stared down at the small piece of wood in Bronadui's hands. "What are you making now?" he asked with a slight and tired smile, glad to turn the doom-laden talk to something else. The young warrior could not sit still without laying hold of a piece of wood and 'freeing' the shape that rested inside it.  
  
"A bird," Arasceleg answered with a grin. "It seems that more birds reside in the wood he finds than aught else."  
  
A slight smile touched Bronadui's lips as he held the modest carving aloft, examining it before delicately cutting away a small curl of wood.  
  
"Well," he said slowly, "this wood was once a tree, and the trees do house the birds. So it seems fitting that birds emerge from it."  
  
Heledir did chuckle then, and shook his golden head. He opened his mouth to speak, for he much liked the quiet Silvan carver, but then he realized that Tanglinna had ended his nightly ritual and had moved to stand a few feet from them. Silence fell over the small group once more, their eyes cast downward to the ash-strewn ground.  
  
The archer sheathed his sword after carefully wiping the blade. He squatted on his haunches, holding the sword in its scabbard before him, studying it as he noted the sudden stilling of the voices of his companions. They had learned that silence was the only course now. He drew no comfort from words, so the only words he heard this night were the words of songs being sung at other fires.  
  
The songs that drifted closest were from their companions. The music was sung quietly, and he found himself hearing the familiar words of grief in the songs sung this night. They were mourning the death of their fallen comrades, for though Amdir's force had taken the brunt of the attack, no one was left untouched by the hand of Sauron. Oropher's elves had their own dead to attend to, their fallen comrades' bodies wrapped in their bloodstained cloaks. The songs were sung now for those who had died, hoping the songs would follow them to the Halls of Mandos, telling them that they would not be forgotten. These songs blended with others about the encampments. A drift of words in Khuzdul, the Dwarvish tongue, could be heard, as well as that of the Men. Tonight all the children of Iluvatar were united in their grief and in their need to overcome their shared foe before many more of them fell in this dread, smoke-blackened plain, their blood mingling on the tainted ground with that of their friends and foes.  
  
Tanglinna stood and moved to place his sword by his bow and quiver. He rubbed one hand over his face, surprised to feel the tears there once again. His mouth twisted angrily, and he dashed the tell tale signs of his sorrow away. Tomorrow he would be with them if the Valar were merciful, and then this unending torment would be over. He smoothed out his bedroll, pointedly ignoring the others near him. He was in no mood for their small talk. He rummaged in his small pack until his fingers encountered the small tube that he sought. He knew his pain would double, but he welcomed it; nay, he needed it. It was from this pain that he drew his strength. He took out the leather container and opened it, uncurling the paper that rested inside.  
  
"Celair."  
  
His lips formed the word that was her name, his head bowing as the now too familiar ache of loss shuddered through him.  
  
Standing in the shadow of his tent was Oropher, the King of Greenwood the Great. His grey eyes moved slowly over the his people, seeing their sorrow, the weariness that this day's battle had brought, the small measure of peace they found in camaraderie with their fellows. He felt a fierce pride flow through him as he observed them in silence. Perhaps they did not have the weapons, arms, and training the others did, but he doubted not that they were strong, fierce, and the best fighters here. The Shadow was ever increasing in their homeland, and fighting it was nothing new to these "simple Wood elves."  
  
Stubborn, independent of spirit, and strong-willed: those were the words that he had heard others speak of them. A smile tugged at his lips, his white teeth flashing in a wolfish manner. All these words had been applied to him as well at one time or another. It was these very attributes that gave them their strength, the strength that had seen them through this march here, not knowing what might befall them. Yes, they were his people, and he would not exchange them for all the Eldar in their fancy armor on Ennor.  
  
His gaze lingered on their eyes, gauging the myriad emotions displayed on their fair faces, faces lined with the heaviness of grief, smudged with filth and blood. Despite this, hope still lived in their bright eyes, as well as a lightness of heart that had sustained them through today's devastation. Some lay dreaming beneath the ash-choked sky; others kept silent vigil, their gazes fastened on Sauron's fortress with a single-mindedness that was terrifying to behold, as voices low with pain and anger sang of revenge to come. Oropher did not doubt that they would triumph on the morrow. They would make victory theirs, he and his people. Who else felt the horror of the Shadow more than they? Who knew only too well what evils Sauron wrought upon the land and its people, evils that would spread if not stopped here at Dagorlad?  
  
Yes, they would prevail.  
  
Oropher sought his son, and soon he discovered him seated with a small group of Silvan Elves, carefully winding a length of bandage onto Ovorglir's arm, the wound now neatly stitched closed by Thranduil. The prince's long golden hair shimmered in the fire's glow, and the Elf King watched the emotions that played over his face, the way the blue eyes shone and the white teeth flashed in a smile. Faelthir was telling some silly tale to keep Ovorglir's mind occupied on something other than what Thranduil had been doing, and Oropher saw the Elves in that little knot laugh. Laughter was not something heard much on this day, and it was a strange sound in this darksome place.  
  
~There is more to you, nin ion (my son), than you know, ~ he thought with satisfaction. ~You think yourself a younger version of me, but there is much of your mother in you as well. ~  
  
Auriell, daughter of the morning she had been named, and as bright and as lovely as the dawn she was. Hair as pale as the gold of a morning sky, her eyes a rich blue flecked with violet. She had been as strong and stubborn as he was, which was what had garnered his attention in the first place. Yet she was also gentle, with the healing touch in her long slender hands. Her voice had been like silver bells, and her laughter had touched his pride-filled heart and melted it. He closed his eyes momentarily, lost in his memories of her. She had sailed West not long before this conflict with the shadow, and the pain of their parting haunted him still. He hoped that Thranduil would be as happy as they had been. Brenillass was the perfect match for his son, showing the patience that would be needed to match Thranduil's temper, and the level-headedness to balance his passions, as well as the gentleness that would foster all that was bright and good in him, such as was exhibited now.  
  
~I hope to have a grandchild to dandle on my knee soon, ~ he thought with a smile as he opened his eyes. But these thoughts of marital bliss and children caused him to search out another. His brow furrowed as his eyes moved from Thranduil, slowly scanning each face until they lit upon a spill of silver hair, the long braid coming loose and hanging unkempt. The elf king sighed heavily, feeling an ache in his heart for his friend. He had heard the whispers about Tanglinna's intentions for the morrow. This was not unexpected. Oropher grunted softly, and moved slowly through the camp.  
  
~Mayhap it is not so easy to die, brun mellon-nin (my old friend), ~ he thought, recalling how he had seen the Master Archer cutting a swath through the foe earlier that day, even as on the other end of the field pinned in the marshes Amdir and half his force were cut down. Tanglinna's face had been bloodied, a snarl on his lips, the gleam in his eyes showing only too well how he relished dealing death to these minions of the Shadow. Oropher moved silently through the camp, nodding in acknowledgement to his people who watched his passage, knowing that they drew comfort from his presence, just as he did from theirs. As long as their king was here to lead them, all would be well. ~And it will be, ~ he thought, nodding at Bronadui, Arasceleg, Orthelian, and Heledir as he walked past them and came to stand behind the archer.  
  
"Mae Govannen, Tanglinna Thindalagosion (son of Thindalagos)," he said in a low voice.  
  
The archer, who had been kneeling by his bedroll, started slightly as anger flared through him at the fact that Oropher had come upon him unawares. He stood smoothly, tucking the small paper into the tube and laying it beneath the blanket that served as his pillow before turning to his king.  
  
"Shouldn't you be out harassing Gil-galad?" Tanglinna said in a voice colored by his annoyance as he untied the laces of his bloodstained tunic.  
  
Oropher chuckled slightly and shook his golden head.  
  
"I have done that this night, so I thought I would come and harass you now."  
  
He had indeed confronted Gil-galad High King of the Noldor, early that night. They had exchanged words, both of them filled with anger and sorrow over what had transpired that day. They had not parted on easy terms, but then their relationship had never been what one would term friendly. Thoughts of his confrontation with one of the self-proclaimed leaders of this Alliance fled as Tanglinna met his eyes coldly, his mouth thinning slightly.  
  
"I am not in the mood for this, hir-nin (my lord). Tomorrow is another day of battle, and I am tired."  
  
Not many would have dared to dismiss Oropher so, and dismissed he had been as Tanglinna dared to turn his back to the king, the silver head bowing slightly.  
  
~I can see your weariness, mellon-nin, ~ Oropher thought, his brows knitting as he noted the stress and pain that had shown so clearly on the archer's face, the bleakness in the silvery eyes. He lifted one brow, leaning back to assess the other elf. "Are you getting too old for this, then?" he quipped. "I am feeling fine, fit, and hale!" He glanced back at the others with a wink, and was rewarded with smile-lit faces.  
  
But Tanglinna would have none of it. He scowled and turned, his eyes filling with the force of what he was feeling, allowing the king to see all the anger, sorrow, and pain that was his life. He held back nothing.  
  
Oropher was shocked by the power of what he saw, but his face remained impassive. If this archer thought he could make King of Greenwood the Great back down, he was mistaken.  
  
~Very well, ~ he thought, feeling his own ire rising, ~have it your way, you stubborn Silvan! ~  
  
"It is said that you wish to die tomorrow," he said bluntly. In truth, he didn't care for all the word games he had been forced to play in these last days, and he knew that Tanglinna didn't either. This suited them both much better, though he saw the other's eyes widen at the unexpected words and then narrow dangerously. ~Ah yes, ~ Oropher thought, suppressing a satisfied grin. ~It seems a battle is to be waged this night, and perhaps this anger can overcome your sorrow. ~ He straightened to his full, impressive height, thrusting out his broad chest, and stared down at Tanglinna who was a few inches shorter and several pounds lighter. He saw the archer's hand close about the hilt of the dagger that was sheathed at his lean waist, his lips curling back in a feral snarl. Oropher glared back at him, knowing that soon they would be snapping at one another's throats like ravening wolves. Perhaps this bout of anger could cleanse Tanglinna of the grief and guilt he carried, just as Oropher wished it to. "Enough have died today! I won't have you throwing your life away! Not for anyone! Do you think this is what they would want?!"  
  
"It is my life, and I will choose when I depart from it!"  
  
""I am your King, and I am ordering you-"  
  
"You are what?" the voice was nigh a whisper, but it cut Oropher's words off as effectively as the roar of a Balrog would. "Do not dare presume to tell me-"  
  
"I will presume to tell you anything that I wish! Your dying won't bring them back!"  
  
"I am not trying to bring them back! I am trying to join them!" Tears swam across Tanglinna's eyes and spilled down his hollowed cheeks. He despised himself for this show of supposed weakness. Shouldn't all the tears he had shed over the past months have drowned this overwhelming grief? He should be an empty shell of his former self by now, not still filled with such crippling anguish that he felt as though his heart were shredded into thousands of tiny pieces by this loss. ~ Celair, why is this so hard? Why did you have to leave me so alone and bereft of all but this never-ending pain? ~  
  
Oropher felt his resolve to be stern crumble, but he knew that he mustn't give in to pity, as Tanglinna would only despise him for it. His eyes narrowed suddenly.  
  
"So you wish to die, do you, Tanglinna Thindalagosion? Then die!" He drew his own curved dagger, plunging it toward the other. He heard the gasps of surprise and horror from those about them, those nearest leaping to their feet, and he even caught a flash of golden hair as Thranduil sprinted toward them, his senses ever on alert. But Tanglinna's own dagger deflected the blade, and the force of the deceptively lean body threw the larger elf back.  
  
Tanglinna glared at him, panting with emotion and wrath, his tears forgotten.  
  
"I thought you wished to die, Mithril," Oropher said quietly, holding out one hand to wave Thranduil and the others away from them, their eyes filled with confusion and dismay. "Why, then, do you defend yourself?"  
  
Tanglinna ground his teeth together, the dagger in his hand shaking slightly. Why had he prevented the fatal blow from falling? That was what he wished, wasn't it? The Master Archer's breath caught raggedly in his throat, and he knew in that moment that he might have killed Oropher if the other had decided to press the issue further. Yes, he realized with a start, a shudder coursing through him, he would have. His emotions were tottering on the edge of a knife, so much so that he feared he would have slain his king and friend! Slowly he lowered the dagger, feeling his muscles shaking with tension as his eyes came to rest on its silver brightness. It was a beautiful blade, one crafted for him by Celair for his conception day, the last one he would ever celebrate. Don Gwaedh it was named: Dark Oath, named by him that day when everything had fallen to pieces around him. Oaths he had taken that day as well: one sworn for vengeance, one sworn to protect others where he could not protect his own beloved.  
  
"Don't call me that," he hissed, turning his back on Oropher and the others. "Never call me that again."  
  
Oropher found himself regretting the use of the old nickname, and he knew that he shouldn't have reminded Tanglinna of it. Mithril and Morn he had called them: Silver and Sable, after their hair.  
  
Tanglinna had always been solitary, seemingly accepting of this lonely life he had after losing his family in the fall of Doriath when he was but a young warrior. He had buried his emotions then, being always taciturn and intensely private. But then Riwmegor's daughter, Faensigilceledir, affectionately called Celair, had entered his life, and everything had changed. Oropher had never seen a more remarkable transformation. Tanglinna had grown so tender and caring, acting like a lovesick child at times. Auriell had rejoiced over the happiness the two had found in one another's company, and had encouraged the romance between her fair friend and the stern Master Archer. The romance blossomed eventually into a betrothal, and then marriage. It seemed that the Valar smiled upon the two, for life began to stir in Celair's womb not many months later. Tanglinna was certain that he could be no happier than he was at that time of his life, despite the threat the Shadow made on Oropher's realm in the Emyn Duir, the Dark Mountains in northeastern Mirkwood.  
  
But then the unthinkable had happened.  
  
Oropher remembered all too well how happily that day had started. Tanglinna had been one of the handful of warriors that had accompanied him on a hunt. It had been successful, and they had returned to the palace, full of good feelings and triumph. Auriell awaited their return bearing a short simple message for the archer, which of course Oropher had read over Tanglinna's shoulder, smiling at the small hearts and flowers Celair had penned on the page with:  
  
"Meet us at Fanui Taen (Cloudy Height). We await you there. Im meleth le, Mithril (I love you, Mithril)."  
  
Oropher had laughed heartily, clapping his old friend on the back, and was rewarded with a grin and a rare blush from Tanglinna. He knew that Celair and Riwmegor had planned a small celebration at the talan Tanglinna had constructed as a getaway home for he and Celair just before their marriage. It was a few miles away, far enough from the others that it had all the privacy they wanted. It had been many years since Tanglinna had celebrated his conception day, not since his family had died at Doriath, and Oropher was glad to see that perhaps he was putting the sorrow of the past behind him for good. The king of Greenwood had watched as Tanglinna had ridden out, a small wreath of flowers clutched in one slim hand. The king had laughed, wondering when he would place those flowers on his silver locks, surely sometime before he reached Fanui Taen. After all, it was what Celair wanted, and what Celair wanted Tanglinna was only too glad to give to her.  
  
Something that had started out so full of fun and excitement had ended tragically, for what Tanglinna had found in their small getaway had changed him into the person who stood before Oropher this day.  
  
He had climbed swiftly into the small house, a smile on his lips, the bright flowers fluttering atop his head. But the smile soon vanished. The trees were whispering with fear and sorrow as he rode to meet his lady-wife and father-in-law.  
  
The Shadow was indeed growing bold and blatant as it crept ever closer to Oropher's Hall, leaving death and destruction in its wake. It had struck out now at all that Tanglinna held dear, shattering all that he had made for himself from the ruins of his former life in Doriath.  
  
Oropher, Auriell, Thranduil, Brenillass, and a few other intimates of Tanglinna and Celair had found him later as they rode to join the celebration. When they arrived, the archer was kneeling on the floor of the talan between the bodies of his wife and father-in-law, his face streaked with their blood. Celair's slim hand rested in Tanglinna's, his grey eyes staring blankly at her face which was twisted into a death's mask of pain and horror at what she had suffered in her last moments of life. The King of Mirkwood stared at the heartrending scene before him, his heart aching and torn. He knelt swiftly at his friend's side, trying to calm the fierce anger and disbelief that welled within him. He laid a slightly shaking hand on the archer's shoulder, feeling the deep shudder that trembled through the other's body at the touch. It was then that he saw what he had not before, and he could not prevent the small cry of horrified distress that passed his lips. He heard Brenillass sob out her own loss and pain, knew she buried her face against Thranduil's chest, hearing the rustle of fabric as she did so. Auriell stood just behind her husband, silent tears frozen in her lovely eyes, her pain overwhelming.  
  
~This cannot be happening, ~ Oropher thought, eyes widening as he tried to not see what lay before him. ~Why was this allowed to happen? How - How! ~  
  
Children were a rare and precious gift, and Oropher knew how much Tanglinna and Celair had anticipated the birth of their first, a son they would name Cubell. His grey eyes slid to where the child lay, ripped from his mother's womb before his time. It was an image that would haunt him over the weeks to come.  
  
It was an image that haunted Tanglinna still.  
  
"I am sorry, Tanglinna," Oropher murmured, forcing the memory away, his eyes moving to where Thranduil his own son stood, his fair face fraught with worry and distress. "But I cannot let you do this to yourself. I cannot let you do this to me."  
  
Tanglinna said nothing, shoulders straightening, his mouth a hard thin line. Most distressing were his eyes, as he turned to look at his king and his friend. They had lost all emotion, as if a shutter had slammed down over his soul, locking all that he felt too strongly away from everyone, and most especially from himself.  
  
"It is mine to choose, hir-nin," he said in a flat voice, before he turned away and knelt once more by his bedroll. "Gar-im al-bach. Nin cuil na lith. Nin gur na fern. Car-im al-iest an cuinar.(I have nothing. My life is ash. My heart is dead. I do not wish to live.)"  
  
Oropher felt something akin to defeat wash over him as Tanglinna knelt swiftly to straighten his pack. The king's eyes moved over the closest group to rest on his son once more, the son whose face betrayed the distress and pain he felt.  
  
~What am I to do now? ~ Oropher thought with a measure of hopelessness, his gaze once more on the Master Archer. He watched as the other's dexterous fingers tied the leather strings of his pouch, those same fingers that were so skilled with a bowstring. ~Too many have died in the battle this day, so many of us will not be returning to our green sanctuary beneath the great trees. It was never supposed to be this way. What can this war hold in store for any of us? ~ His eyes lit on his son who had come to stand at his side. Oropher noted that the small roll of bandages was still clenched in his fist, all but forgotten. ~What would I do if I lost you, nin ion? How would I feel then? ~ Oropher wondered, staring at Thranduil's face, memorizing the beloved lines of it all over again. The glimmering of an idea was born in that moment, and though knowing what its reception would be, it was worth the price of the scorn and resentment that would be flung his way because of it.  
  
"So you care not for your own life? Then perhaps you had best care for someone else's," Oropher said tersely, his jaw clenching, grey eyes as cold and sharp as ice. "If your life is worth nothing, then I charge you to watch over one that *is* important."  
  
Tanglinna turned smoothly to meet his king's gaze with one that rivaled it in disdain.  
  
"You cannot lay that charge upon me, for I refuse to take it," he hissed.  
  
"You cannot refuse a direct order from me, Tanglinna Thindalagosion. As your liege, I am *ordering* you to this. You will be held responsible for the life of my son, Thranduil. If anything shall befall him during this battle with the Shadow, you will be the one who will stand before Mandos with his blood on your hands. He is yours to protect."  
  
Oropher stared down at his stunned Master Archer, watching anger and resentment darken the silvery eyes. However it was Thranduil who voiced the protest that Oropher knew was lurking somewhere in Tanglinna's throat.  
  
"I don't need a nursemaid, hir-nin!" his son said vehemently, with an apologetic glance at Tanglinna. "I am not a child that I need someone to watch over my every step. I have fought at your side this day, and bravely! How can you say -"  
  
Oropher silenced him with a glare not often used on his only child, and Thranduil took a step back away from his sire. He had seen his father in a rage many a time, but there was something so cold and deadly in his look that he knew not what to make of this. His eyes slipped to Tanglinna, who was looking equally filled with rage and bitterness, and the prince felt a jolt of pity for his friend.  
  
"He will do what I tell him to do!" Oropher barked, his eyes sliding over them all. None would meet his gaze, none but the archer. "Do you hear me, Tanglinna? If anything at all befalls my son, it is on your head!" The king of Greenwood spun away from them, his rich dark-green cloak flaring out behind him, the silver embroidery on the hem flashing in the light of the campfires.  
  
Uneasy silence settled over the elves once more. Thranduil raised his head to look at the small group. A few of them met his wary gaze, but soon they turned away, returning to their small fire. The prince watched for a moment as they took up their tasks: Heledir sharpening his dagger and speaking quietly to his brother in a reassuring tone; Arasceleg poking with a stick to stir the fire, watching as the embers flared crimson; Orthelian pulling arrows from his quiver to check the fletching; Bronadui, one of the youngest warriors present in any of the camps feeding small curls of wood to the flames, the pale grey eyes sad.  
  
Thranduil drew an uneasy breath, his eyes moving to Tanglinna who was standing with his back to the prince. Thranduil could sense the tenseness in the archer's slim body; the way the shoulders were hunched, the head bowed as he gazed at the blade which he had bent to pick up once more, now clasped in his hand. A tremor of fear knifed through Thranduil as he watched the archer raise the blade, cradled in both hands, staring at his reflection in its silver depths.  
  
"Tanglinna," he began in a low, hesitant voice. He no longer knew how to speak with his friend. "You . . . you do not need to do this. The king . . . he is . . . he was . . . . "  
  
"The king knew what he was doing, nin caun(my prince)," Tanglinna answered in a ragged tone, tears splashing to the silver blade, blurring his reflection, making certain that he used Thranduil's formal title. "He knew the one thing that would bind me to his words."  
  
Thranduil gazed at the others who were studiously ignoring them, though he knew they could hear every word they spoke and read every emotion that played across their faces.  
  
"Tanglinna, I am sorry. You don't have to do-"  
  
"Be quiet, nin caun," the voice was hoarse and angry. Bitter. "Go back to your duties. I will guard your back for the duration of this siege, but I owe you nothing more beyond that. Now leave me!"  
  
Thranduil sighed heavily, turning away.  
  
"Tanglinna-"  
  
"Leave me!"  
  
The prince of Greenwood swallowed, hanging his head in defeat. Pain knifed through him, and he felt tears burn in his eyes. There was so much sorrow in the air, so much suffering. His eyes moved to gaze at the dark fortress of the enemy, shrouded in a choking cloud of ash and smoke. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? More death and pain . . . only of that was he certain. His heart greatly grieved, he moved silently away from his friend, leaving him to his own sorrow.  
  
TBC 


	2. Chapter 2 Choices Made

Knife's Edge  
By  
TreeHugger  
  
Chapter 2 - Choices Made  
  
He stood silently, strapping his sword at his side, his fingers caressing the familiar well-worn leather though he was not aware that he did it. His eyes were filled with worry, and a fear that he hoped was nearly hidden. Though he had been told that fear was only natural at times like these, he still felt a certain shame that the cold dread crept through him as he contemplated what might befall them this day. Tension filled the air as thickly as the choking ash and smoke that poured constantly from the churning, crimson bowels of Orodruin. His gaze lingered for a moment on his friends, their faces set in grim lines as they readied their own weapons and armor. Fear lurked in them too, and this brought him a measure of comfort to know that he was not alone in this seemingly dishonorable emotion. He had made certain that those wounded in the skirmish the day before were healing, and either resting comfortably or arming themselves for another onslaught, depending on the gravity of their injuries.  
  
~Our armor is so very scant, ~ he thought with dismay as he watched them pulling on the few pieces of protective metal that they had.  
  
When he had first beheld their allies, all of them dressed in shining armor of silver, gold, and green, long glittering swords and tall bright spears clasped in their hands, he had been nigh overwhelmed by their array, and by the realization of how little his own people possessed of the armaments of war. Even the Dwarves of Durin IV were wrapped in silver mail coats, sharp axes gripped in leather and metal-encased hands, daggers and short swords girded at their sides, heavy helmets engraved with the flowing geometric designs their folk favored. His father had laughed at what he had termed "that clanking Noldor army," but Thranduil realized just how vulnerable the Wood Elves were. A few of them bore armor that they had worn in the battle at Doriath, and yet others wore armor crafted for them by Riwmegor before his death. Yet so few of them had any type of real protection that the prince wondered what would happen to them this day. Too easily had Amdir's forces been cut down the day before, and now he did wonder if the same could happen to the elves of Greenwood.  
  
Thranduil ran a slender hand over the chill silver of his breastplate, his sensitive fingers feeling the lines and curves of the graven beech and oak leaves that adorned it. It was an elegant piece of armor, light and strong and beautiful. Riwmegor had made it specifically for him soon after the metal worker had found his way to Greenwood and set up his forge. The leaf shaped dagger at Thranduil's slim waist, as well as the slender blade in the wrist sheath and the one in his boot top, had been crafted by Celair. They also bore an oak and beech design intertwined with powerful words of protection.  
  
Thinking of Celair and Riwmegor brought a renewed pain, and Thranduil automatically sought out Tanglinna, though he did not wish to see the bitterness that he knew lived in the archer's silver eyes. He saw Tanglinna standing by his bedroll, the slender fingers swiftly braiding the long silver hair. Thranduil had asked Oropher about this once, wondering why Tanglinna chose to braid his hair in the single braid rather than the three braids normally worn by the other elven warriors. Oropher had merely shaken his golden head, his grey eyes sad.  
  
"It goes back to before Doriath," he had murmured, choosing to say no more. In his mind's eye Oropher could still see the frightened, grieving child that had come to live in Doriath with his parents, clutching to his chest an overlarge bow that had belonged to his recently slain sister. The youngling's hair had been pulled back into an intricate braid that fell to his waist like molten silver. When Oropher had questioned Tanglinna later about this braid he had answered, "I wear it to honor Malhesie." Malhesie was his dead sister who had instructed him in the ways of survival and in the bow, the chosen weapon of that family.  
  
Thranduil was barely aware of the low hum of voices about him as the elves of Greenwood prepared for battle. His eyes slid over them, mindful of them but not truly seeing them. Yesterday had shocked them all, so swift and suddenly had death courted Amdir and his warriors. Those surviving the slaughter had been joined into Gil-galad's own ranks. This had not set well with Oropher, who felt that Amdir's warriors would feel more at home among the Silvan Elves of Greenwood, but Gil-galad had been most insistent. Thranduil had no time to contemplate someone else's warriors though; it was his father's own that weighed heavily upon his heart.  
  
He knew them all to varying degrees, and he loved them with a possessiveness that was similar to what his father felt for them. They were his people, these Silvans of Greenwood, and it was distressing to him to realize that some would not survive this day; some would not be returning to their homes, or walking beneath their beloved trees again, or seeing the faces of their loved ones.  
  
His gaze returned to Tanglinna, who had strapped on his sword and dagger and then pulled a small leather tube from within the folds of his tunic. Thranduil knew that the small curled paper he drew forth was a picture of Celair, rendered so lifelike by Tanglinna's own hand: her dark curls tumbled about her shoulders, a bright dagger in one slim hand. The prince turned away as the archer unrolled the picture, for he could not bring himself to watch the grief that would blossom in his friend's face once more. Grief and anguish were already palpable things, hanging like a carrion bird in the air above them, heavy and unrelenting. It brought distress to Thranduil to know that these emotions would only grow in intensity before this conflict was over. Would they be able to survive that? Would the end price they paid for this conflict with Sauron be too high? A moment later he turned around, feeling the archer's piercing silvery gaze upon him.  
  
Tanglinna strode by Bronadui and Arasceleg, who were finishing their own preparations and glanced up to watch him pass. They exchanged silent gazes and returned to what they had been doing. Thranduil couldn't help but notice that Heledir was laughing and encouraging Filigod, who looked as frightened as the prince felt. The young elf attempted to smile at his sibling's jests as Heledir adjusted the breastplate that had once belonged to their father, and Filigod nodded in agreement, but Thranduil could see it was doing little to allay the youth's dread of the coming day. He had seen Filigod's grey eyes dart to the tall archer as he passed by, and the confusion of emotions that assailed the new-made warrior showed all too clearly on his young face.  
  
~This is unnatural, ~ Thranduil thought, his eyes moving to the dark mountain and the vile fortress of the enemy. ~It shouldn't be this way. The Valar know that it shouldn't. How have things come to this, that younglings must stand here before this crimson-washed mountain bearing weapons they barely know how to use and be expected to fight what will seem like an endless foe? We shouldn't be here . . . . None of us should be here. How could it have come to this? ~  
  
He started slightly as he realized that Tanglinna was standing before him, the silver eyes cold and brimming with the expected bitter resentment. Thranduil parted his lips to speak, but found the words had died in his throat. He dropped his gaze uncomfortably and turned away, moving slowly toward Oropher's tent. He knew that Tanglinna followed him, and the prince had to fight off the overwhelming desire to hang his head like a guilty child. He kept his chin up though, his eyes trained on the slight flutter of banners in the distance, a mere movement of colored silk against the ashen sky.  
  
The sounds of voices seemed muffled as the camps mustered and prepared for a day of battle. Soon they would form their lines and prepare for the advance against Sauron's fortress. He could hear his father's voice as they neared the tent. Oropher was speaking with his closest advisors, and Thranduil could make out Pethannas' earnest tones as they spoke of this engagement with the enemy; Pethannas was trying to convince Oropher of something of import, and failing. Thranduil knew how very stubborn his father could be, and felt a wave of pity for his counselors who had to deal with Oropher's somewhat mulish behavior at times. Some of Gil-galad's captains had been here earlier, and Thranduil had noted the look of annoyance on their faces after their "conversation" with Oropher as they strode almost contemptuously through the Greenwood camp back to their own, their muttered comments quite audible.  
  
Suddenly the tent flap was thrust open and Oropher strode out, golden head held high, grey eyes flashing with spirit and determination. His gaze swept over the Greenwood camp with satisfaction as he watched his warriors preparing for the coming engagement, and he nodded slightly, evidently pleased with what he saw. He turned to his son then and smiled.  
  
"How fare you this morning, nin ion (my son)?" he asked, grasping Thranduil's arm affectionately and gazing steadily into the prince's blue eyes.  
  
"I am well, hir-nin," Thranduil managed with a nod of his head. He fought to keep the resentment that he felt because of the awkward situation he had been placed in by his father out of his gaze, but he doubted that he had succeeded in this for he saw a slight look of hurt flash across his father's face before vanishing behind the impenetrable mask Oropher usually wore.  
  
Thranduil's eyes lit upon his father's breastplate, which was akin to his own only the leaves had been worked in gold. Atop the blond head was a circlet of twining bands of silver and gold shaped in the image of a wreath of leaves. The king's green cloak fell from his broad shoulders; the silver and green tinted armor glinted in the twilight gloom about them. He looked every inch a king, and Thranduil felt a swell of pride for his shining, glorious father fill him, blocking out the bitterness for a time.  
  
~Even Gil-galad must not look so regal this morning, ~ he thought, allowing his emotions to shine forth unhindered at this silent observation. He saw the answering look of acceptance and relief in his father's eyes and knew that what he felt had communicated itself to Oropher. He felt some of his resentment at his father and king lift as Oropher strode past him to step up onto a rocky incline held up his elegant hands for attention, his hair a blaze of gold in the grey air.  
  
Soon all eyes were upon Oropher, the elves of Greenwood gazing upon him in admiration and love. He was their king, and they would follow him anywhere he chose to lead them. He had taken these stubborn, rustic Silvans into his heart as they had taken him into theirs. Thranduil stood proudly as his father stepped forward to address their people.  
  
"My warriors of the fair Greenwood, today we venture forth to meet our dread foe, face to face on his very doorstep, and call him forth to battle. . . ."  
  
The words Oropher spoke that morning were stirring, and they filled his brave warriors with the fierce courage and pride that they would need to face the coming day. That in turn stirred their blood, making them wish to do great deeds here in this black land, to vanquish the foe that had haunted them for so very long. They gazed upon their king, seeing his own courage and belief in the words that he spoke, and they were heartened, their own bravery rising to the fore. They would stand side by side this day to fight and conquer, even though they knew that some of them would fall, their blood mixing with the ashes that littered the cracked ground. At that moment no one doubted that they would prevail against the Shadow and his minions. Then a low murmur of voices that had long known the trees and stars of this world rose on the air ancient and wild, causing the other camps to turn and look at Oropher's warriors. Those that were encamped nearest saw the fair faces shining with such feral delight and untamed spirit that they wondered anew about their quieter, forest-bred cousins.  
  
The king of Greenwood moved back to where Thranduil stood, Tanglinna hovering at the prince's shoulder. Oropher studied the archer, noting well the anger that tensed the muscles and clenched the jaws, the silver eyes fixed on some point in the distance.  
  
"Thranduil, fetch my sword," the king said quietly, his eyes never leaving Tanglinna's face. It hurt Oropher that the archer would not meet his eyes, but he kept his countenance impassive, his own gaze cool and emotionless.  
  
Knowing that his father needed this moment alone with the Master Archer, the prince moved past Pethannas and into the tent, glad to be away from the tension that festered between Oropher and Tanglinna. He despised that he was caught between them in this struggle, thought he knew well why it would be necessary to play it out. He refused to allow the bitterness he felt toward them both to rise up in him again. Now was not the time for such petty grievances. Slowly, Thranduil crossed the interior of the tent to where his father's great sword sat, a gleaming of silver in the dimness.  
  
The counselors walked away from Oropher with one last glance at their chosen leader and moved into the camp, speaking to the warriors of their homes and what it was they fought for. Elven spirits had been kindled with a fierce readiness for battle, and the words of their leaders fired it even farther. They were ready to face anything, or so they felt at this moment of time as they awaited the signal for them to move ahead.  
  
Tanglinna slowly met Oropher's eyes without flinching. Few could withstand the king's gaze, and he could make anyone quail before him when he so chose; this day though the grey eyes were filled with compassion, though tempered with a steely glint that showed he would brook no opposition. Oropher would not back down, not even to smooth the path between the two of them.  
  
"I do not want to go into this battle with ill feelings between us, mellon-nin," he began quietly. "I do this for a very selfish reason, I admit. I will not see yet another one of my people die and not do something to prevent it when I can."  
  
Tanglinna's silver brows knit, but the eyes didn't soften at these heartfelt words. Oropher took hope, scant though it was, in the fact that the archer hadn't gainsaid him as yet. As king, he was not one to cosset and coddle, or wrap his words in softness and tact. ~As even Gil-galad has reason to know, ~ he thought with dark satisfaction as he recalled some of the meetings he had with the High King of the Noldor. Oropher could be plainspoken and blunt, and he knew that Tanglinna was much the same.  
  
Oropher recalled the first words Tanglinna had spoken to him so long ago in Menegroth. Oropher had been standing with a group of his intimates and had witnessed the arrival of Thindalagos and his family as they entered the halls of King Elu Thingol. Some of Oropher's friends had snickered at what they had named "those Wild Silvans," but though Oropher had smiled at this, there was a fierceness and simplicity about the Woodland Elves that he found most appealing and more honest than what his Sindar kindred exhibited. His eyes had lit upon the smallest member of this family of three, amazed that one so very young could look so very solemn and serious.  
  
He had left his friends and approached the youngling as he might a small-untamed creature, silently and slowly. The child's parents had left to ask permission to stay within the safe confines of Menegroth, leaving their son standing by one of the towering, carved pillars. He noted that the youngling's gaze moved up and down the length of the great column, one slim finger reaching out to touch a carved bird, its head cold and smooth, so very lifelike.  
  
"It is very beautiful, is it not?" Oropher had asked quietly, his own eyes sweeping to the ceiling far overhead. Surely this child had never seen anything as magnificent as these wondrous halls and was most impressed by the beauty that now surrounded him on all sides; from the colorful stone floors, to Melian's beautiful hangings on the walls, the sound of the nightingales sweet singing mingled pleasantly with the soft music of water spilling in fountains of silver and marble.  
  
Tanglinna had turned to him then, the silver eyes filled with a mild disdain that surprised the older Sindar.  
  
"They are not real," he said bluntly, indicating the carvings that twined about the pillar. "They are just imitations. The real ones are better."  
  
Straightforward and so very honest, two of the things that Oropher had found refreshing and surprising about the Silvan Elves. They could be so quiet at times, elusive and shy, yet their answers could cut straight to the heart of the matter. It was with these thoughts in mind that he turned to his friend now.  
  
"Do you think that you are the only one who suffers from their deaths?" Oropher continued in a low earnest voice, searching the silvery eyes for some sign that Tanglinna heard him, but receiving nothing. "Do I not suffer with *every* death that comes to Greenwood? I do, Tanglinna, and I thought you knew that. I could not face this fight knowing that you seek out an end to your life. Do not do this to me! Do not do this to Thranduil! He is your friend, and he cares deeply for you. How do you think he would feel if you accomplished what it is you want? How will any of us feel? My son is the most important thing to me in this world, and all I do I do for him; for you, and for my people, our people. I was unable to prevent Celair, Riwmegor, and Cubell from being taken from us, I would have done all within my power to have prevented that . . . . I need you to stay with me through this, Tanglinna. Don't you understand? Ending your life is not going to help anyone! I need you with me! Thranduil needs you! Isn't this what Celair would have wanted? You did not choose to die when Malhesie fell all those years ago. Or when your parents died in Doriath. They would not want you to throw your life away for them. I cannot believe that Celair would ask that of you either. She loved you, Tanglinna. She would have wanted you to live. I want you to live . . . ."  
  
Tanglinna held the king's gaze for a moment, and then dropped his eyes to the blackened ground at his feet. Even as he tried to harden himself to the king's words, his heart ached with the knowledge of the truth behind them.  
  
Malhesie would have tugged his braid playfully and shaken her dark head at him.  
  
"Don't be foolish, Vanwahith (Silver Braid)," he heard her distant voice say in his head. " I taught you those skills for a reason. Now use them where you may, to save those you can."  
  
Tanglinna had felt as though he would die when she had been slain near their home so many years before, smiling up at her younger brother as her life bled out of her, but he hadn't. His parents needed him, and he had put aside his grief to be strong for them. When they had died, he had been strong for the survivors of the despoiling of Doriath. They had needed him then. And Celair. . . his beloved Celair . . . .  
  
"Don't be foolish, nin Orolith (my Silver Hawk)," her beloved voice seemed to whisper in his ear as though she stood just behind him, so very close and yet so very far from him. If only he could touch her once more, feel her pressed against him, her body fitting so well with his own, her curls brushing teasingly at his cheek. "We will be reunited someday, but they need you now. One day you will tell your son how you stood with Prince Thranduil at a great battle that helped to vanquish evil from Ennor. Our day of reunion will be the more sweet if you do not throw your life away needlessly. Be strong, beloved. Im meleth le, Orolith."  
  
Tanglinna closed his eyes against the pain, calling up her beautiful face, so serene, her silver-blue eyes filled with a love that she had shown to him alone; a love that he had thought would never be gifted to him by anyone. Now she was gone and he felt so weary of life; his spirit so battered and broken nearly beyond recovery.  
  
"Celair," he murmured, feeling a fresh rush of tears burn in his eyes, his heart aching anew. "Celair, it is so hard to go on." A strong, warm hand clamped on his shoulder, and he gazed up into Oropher's eyes. The king said not a word, but merely watched him with compassion, knowing there were no words he could fashion that would have any real meaning at this moment. He felt the archer's muscles relax in defeat and release, the tears falling from the silver eyes.  
  
~Finally, mellon-nin. Perhaps you can begin to move on in peace now, ~ Oropher thought as he watched the play of overwhelming emotions that danced across the other's face.  
  
Instead of touching on the subject so near to both their hearts, for the king feared to reopen a wound that he hoped had so recently begun to heal, he smiled, and clapped Tanglinna on the arm, offering him strength and support in the simple gesture.  
  
"Now, my friend, while I speak with the prince, will you go and help to bolster the younglings' courage? I know that Filigod seemed a bit peaked this morning, and yon galenhuan (bird-carver)," he pointed at young Bronadui, "needs to be told to stop picking up stray bits of wood during the fighting; I fear it will go ill with him if he doesn't and that would not please me."  
  
Tanglinna raised his eyes then, a slight, crooked smile on his lips. He nodded slowly, feeling weary beyond belief, and yet filled with a tremulous peace that he had not ever thought to feel again and feared to examine too closely for fear it would flee him never to return.  
  
"I will tell him," he said in a quiet, broken voice that shook with the vestiges of his retreating sorrow.  
  
"Good. Then come back here to stand with Thranduil when we make ready our lines."  
  
The archer nodded and moved silently away, slender fingers brushing away the traces of his recently shed tears.  
  
Oropher exhaled, feeling his muscles sag with relief. He would have hated to enter into battle with Tanglinna's resentment following on his heels. He turned sharply and moved into the tent before the others could see his own struggle with emotions felt too strongly.  
  
Thranduil looked up as his father entered, the king's sword in his hands, the long leather belt spilling at the prince's feet. He could see that his father looked wearied from this confrontation with Tanglinna; Thranduil had not expected it to be easy on either of them. The prince of Greenwood gestured with his head, indicating the sword belt.  
  
Oropher nodded and moved to stand before him, sweeping the long cloak up and then holding his arms out at his sides. Thranduil knelt before him, girding it about his father's lean waist.  
  
"How is he?" Thranduil asked after a moment of silence, without raising his head from the task at hand. He didn't think that his father was ready to look him in the eyes as yet, and Thranduil was determined to give him the time needed for Oropher to master his emotions.  
  
"All will be well, nin ion," Oropher answered quietly as his son fastened the silver clasp that held the belt closed. It was shaped as an oak leaf surrounded by flowing intertwining circles. It had been a gift from Auriell, one of her last to him before she sailed over the sea. Oropher looped the belt's excess efficiently, and then motioned for Thranduil to stand. He grasped his son's broad shoulders, staring intently at the younger elf's face. He saw himself in that beloved countenance, and Auriell as well, especially about the eyes. "All will be well."  
  
The prince saw the sad, distant look on his father's face and knew Oropher's thoughts were with his beloved. This made Thranduil's thoughts wander to his own beloved Brenillass, and a wave of longing swept over him. How would he feel if she were no longer here? Would he wish to fight on as his father had chosen to do, as Tanglinna had been forced to do? Would he want to live without her at his side? He hoped that he would never have to find out.  
  
"I miss her so," Oropher murmured, causing his son to gaze up at him. The king met his eyes, and Thranduil was surprised to see the tears that glimmered in the grey orbs. "I find that though I have comfort in the fact that one day we will be together, the wait seems too long at times. You must realize that Tanglinna will always carry this grief with him, nin ion. The pain that he suffers is one that will never entirely vanish. Yet he will live. He has made that choice this day. His resentment toward you will vanish. He looks upon you as a friend, and he always will. Never fear, Thranduil. He will be there for you when he is needed."  
  
Suddenly he took his son into a gentle, loving embrace, something that surprised Thranduil, as Oropher was never overly affectionate and such outward displays were rare and therefore cherished. Then he was released, and Oropher smiled widely, the tears blinked away as quickly as they had come.  
  
"Well, shall we go show Gil-galad and his Noldors what marvelous fighters we simple rustics are?" he chuckled, settling the sword belt more comfortably about his hips.  
  
Thranduil returned the smile and tipped his golden head in acknowledgement.  
  
"As you wish, aran-hir," he said, following Oropher from his tent. He would not let the thoughts that had plagued him earlier distress him now. There was an energy in the air, and at that moment he felt that perhaps they could do the impossible here. The Valar would look upon them with favor, and they would succeed.  
  
The sound of singing met them as they emerged, a beautiful blending of voices that rose on the black air, defying and mocking it. Once more a fierce swell of pride filled Oropher, King of Greenwood the Great. His eyes sought out Tanglinna once more, and he was rewarded with a fleeting smile from the archer.  
  
"We shall indeed show them," Oropher murmured quietly, before his voice lifted in song to join with theirs.  
  
TBC  
  
This chapter was a "breather," needless to say. I didn't want to leave too many ill feelings between the three characters in this tale, so I wanted them to reach some sort of understanding before the battle commenced. I did not want Tanglinna to go into the next phase of this story feeling guilty because he had parted on uneasy terms with Oropher any more than I wanted Thranduil to be feeling too resentful toward his father over what Oropher had done with the "nurse maid" scenario. The next chapter will be the battle and/or the aftermath, so there will be angst and loss of life. You have been warned. :(  
  
Thank you to al, my beta-reader! Not too green this time.thankfully! I fear that the next thing I send will be a forest. :)  
  
Thank you to Dragon_of_the_north for reading this over and Okaying the speechless version. Not even the ghost-speech-writer could help with that part. ;) It just proves how very stubborn some elves really are.  
  
The picture of Celair is based on a picture drawn by Ubiquitous Pitt.  
  
Also please see my bio page, which has been changed. Go to Dragon_of_the_north and read "The House of the Silver Bow." She is writing this with my full consent. She has managed to undo something that should never have been. It is considered part of the TreeHugger canon now.  
  
Response to Reviewers  
  
Let me say that I was somewhat overwhelmed and pleasantly surprised by the reviews for the first chapter of this tale. Thank you so very much. :) I admit that I hesitated on this tale, not in the writing of it but in posting it. Those of you who know ME history know what will befall in the first assault on Sauron by the Alliance. There is not much written about this battle, only a few snippets picked up here and there. There is also not much about Oropher so each of us shapes our ideas of this King of Greenwood the Great in our own way. I hope you like my interpretation of this great, stubborn King. I find I really do like him.  
  
JastaElf - I am glad that I can occasionally surprise you with my "different voices." It must be my split-personality problem. ;) I am pleased that you like my Oropher even if he is somewhat different from yours. It is always fun to see the different perspectives on the characters, with a few exceptions: e.g. Evil Thranduil. Thank you most heartily for answering all those Dagorlad questions, they helped me get more of a feel for this battle. :)  
  
Dragon_of_the_north - You have picked up on nuances of this tale that I have failed to notice. :) I find it amusing that people find it hard to believe that Brethil's ada was quiet. He was. ;) Yes, his little birds will be quite significant in the rewrites. :( You are welcome for the mention of the "foes" in this tale. I view them in a slightly different light since reading your tale. You know I couldn't write a more "vivid" description of what happened to Celair and her family.you know how much trouble and agony I went through writing the little that I did. :( I like that you are very aware of the irony in this situation with Tanglinna and Oropher. Yes, I had thought about it when Tanglinna wanted to die and Oropher is the one who will fall in the battle. Very sad and very ironic.  
  
muggles - I am quite thrilled that you are enjoying a more in-depth look at Tanglinna. He is my current obsession. :) It has been nearly a year since I tried to write anything angsty so your comments really meant something to me. Thank you!  
  
Larian Elensar - You sound nearly as exhausted from reading the last chapter as I felt after I wrote it. ;) Glad you are enjoying it. :)  
  
daw the minstrel - I like the image of Oropher and Tanglinna snapping at one another. No, they are not the Noldors. ;) That scene was very clear in my head and I can still see the looks on their faces. Oropher's charge was brilliant and cruel, but as you said, it will accomplish what it was supposed to.  
  
None - I hope it won't make you cry too much. No more than it has made me cry. ;)  
  
Nilmandra - I surprised myself in wanting to write this story. I have known about this part of Tanglinna's life for some time and wasn't certain if I wanted to write about it or not. I don't particularly enjoy writing angst any more, it literally wears me out! But in the end Tanglinna won out and the story is here. I am glad that you like my Oropher. There is so little about him out there that I had to think about how I saw him before I could write this. I did have to laugh about your spanking Legolas if the squirrels in Jade King had hurt the picture. I knew how important the picture of Celair was so there was no way the squirrels were going to hurt it. The younglings have no idea who he is and what he has gone through, and I don't see him talking to them about it. So to them he is just the stern Master Archer who deserves to have pranks played on him. ;)  
  
AURORA - It is good to hear from you again, mellon-nin! I laughed when I saw the name Thrumb Dumb. I hadn't though of that in quite a while. I am glad you like my details, scant though they are in Master Tolkien's books. Dagorlad is usually just a side note somewhere.  
  
Mickie - Well, you may get attached to a few of the elves, some will survive . . . for now. :( As to living down what I did to Tanglinna and Brethil, well that has been rectified, if not by me. See my note on the story by Dragon_of_the_north. I will admit that I didn't want to go into gory detail about the death of Celair and her family. I couldn't. It took me some time to write what I did. I must say that I get entirely too involved when I am writing something and it was very hard for me to write. Yes, I am just a little strange. ;) I think we all enjoy being sad at times, and yes, Steel Magnolias does it to me every time too. :)  
  
Aislynn Crowdaughter - You are very correct in saying that Oropher is not often seen. I suspect this is because so very little is known about him. I find him to be a fascinating character and it has been very nice to work with him. I might have to write more stories with him in them. I am glad you like my Thranduil too. :)  
  
WeasleyTwinsLover1112 - Tense and sad! Cool! That is exactly what I was feeling when I wrote it! I am glad that it came across that way. Thank you so much! :)  
  
Lakergurl13 - Now you need to calm down and read my bio page. Things have changed very recently in my universe. In a word - I caved. ;) Now then, to Charlie. . . well, you certainly are a "bad, bad, bad, evil, fell, nasty Uruk-hai!" No, you may not kill "the archer dude!" Don't even suggest such a thing or I may have to hunt you down! I do have a bow and I know how to use it! *Tanglinna snorts contemptuously, folds his arms over his chest and mutters, "Then he has nothing whatsoever to worry about."* Obviously he doesn't think I use a bow as well as you do your frying pan! He is probably right. ;)  
  
Hel - It has been an interesting experience to write about Oropher and a young Thranduil. You are right in saying there isn't much out there set in this time period, not concerning them anyway. Oropher did indeed know what he was doing charging Tanglinna to watch after Thranduil. Tanglinna's oaths aren't taken lightly. I am glad that you can see the type of relationship Oropher has with Tanglinna. I am glad that I was able to make that come across. Yes, the Greenwood elves are stubborn, independent of spirit, and strong-willed. I think that is why I admire them so. :)  
  
Lothiriel - Your review made me smile! I love "WOW!" I am very glad that I have managed to make people get emotional over this tale. Thank you for that wonderful review! :D  
  
Angaloth - Thank you for your nice compliments! It is very strange for me to write this younger Thranduil, as I usually have him being the one in charge, and is grownup and a father. I had to smile about this part of your review, for yes, Bronadui is actually a quiet elf, very unlike his son. ;) I hope you have read Dragon_of_the_north's tale about what happened after Hearts of Darkness chapter 5. It is canon now. Some things can go the way they should. ;)  
  
LOTR lover - It has been easier for me to write this knowing that Tanglinna will have some happy times ahead of him. I don't mind angst, but I like things to go well for the characters too. Yes, he will be reunited with his family one day, and there is always the Tricksy Trio to entertain him until then. ;)  
  
Katharine the Great - First let me say that you have had a hand in crafting Tanglinna, so some of him belongs to you, melaglar nin. You are certainly the one who made him an artist, and well, it is Tanglinna canon now. :) I had to laugh at you calling yourself a "Thranduil luster." Yes, you are. ;) Don't cry over Bronadui. I try not to think of him dying in two universes, but . . . the deed is done and behind us. I am pleased that you like my "elven ladies." I admit that female characters give me pains. As to the funfic . . . there is a wonderful story by someone named Katie-sama out there. You should check it out. ;)  
  
Hildestohl - Amazingly I can tie everything into a neat package . . . well, I can sometimes. I am glad that you are enjoying this tale, sad though it is. Actually . . . the picture in Tanglinna's room won't be in this story until chapter 4 . . . the last chapter. ;) This picture is another one.  
  
Hiro-tyre - Still waiting for a hug, are you? Perhaps some day he will. You can never tell what Tanglinna might do. ;) I see that you have noted that my younger Thranduil is not quite the way he will be. I see Dagorlad as being a turning point for Thranduil . . . for many reasons. This is my view of the mighty king, of course, but I think that after what happened in this battle, none of them would be quite the same. He is suddenly no longer the prince, but the king, and being made into that position in the midst of a war can't be easy. Also we are about to see his older stubborn self emerge somewhat in the next chapter. I envision Dagorlad as being one of the defining points of Thranduil's life, so I hope I will be able to get that across in the last chapters. Well you are right that I wasted Tanglinna early in his career, luckily someone has rectified that.  
  
erunyauve - I am pleased that you like the little details. They are indeed the things that breath life into characters. The line about returning swiftly to their homes is indeed most poignant. Dagorlad was such a sad battle, so many died, including so many of the leaders of the Alliance. Then we think that the Ring wasn't destroyed, and their hard-won victory was only temporary! :(  
  
Lutris - Tanglinna has many facets to his personality, as he is showing me. Sometimes he can be quite irritating! ;) I am so very pleased that you love him! That is the greatest compliment I can receive! Thank you!  
  
Karina - I see you are rearranging your thoughts to get this Thranduil in mind. He is married, but not yet a father, that will come about after Dagorlad. I admit that I didn't have a clue about what Oropher was really like, so I have done some thinking about how I actually picture him. I find that I actually like him, even though he is mostly remembered for his one HUGE mistake. :( I may write more later about what happened to Celair, but it gave me (literally) pains to write this little bit. Bronadui is actually a very quiet elf, unlike Brethil. He is very nice like his son is though. So while they are similar, they are quite different as well.  
  
Jennet - I am glad that you like the characterizations. Oropher was a mystery to me for a time, for as you said there isn't much out there about him. Mere snippets make this job more interesting, but also more frustrating. I always wonder if there is some little thing buried in the HoME books that I missed. Thank you so much for you wonderful words! :)  
  
Gwilwileth - You sound like a naughty thing! LOL Why were you online reading my story in your leadership class?? ;) This one makes me tear up too, though the only people that see me tear up are my family. Hope you didn't get caught! I used to play poker in science class with my friends! ;) Talk about naughty!  
  
Banba McCuill - This is indeed a sad story, but Dagorlad is a tragic battle for so many. I enjoy finding stories about the lesser-known characters in Tolkien's world, and yes!! There are many characters than those that exist solely in LOTR. :)  
  
ziggy - I think there is a lot of Legolas in his father, and I am glad you see that. I haven't written anything this serious in quite some time, and while I don't particularly like writing angst I have "enjoyed" doing this. Though I am not sure if "enjoy" is quite the right word for what I am feeling. :) Oropher is a very cool elf, and he is quite a tactician.  
  
the evil witch queen - LOL "Old Sourpuss" comes later. Thranduil has a mischievous side, but I am not sure how it will come into play, if it comes into play, in this story. The next chapter has a sad tale of its own to tell. Lives will be changed forever. :(  
  
Lindon - Seeing Tanglinna like this is awful for me too, but it is his fault for telling me this tale. It makes it easier to write knowing that he will have a happier life later on. I am glad that you like my Oropher. He may have been incredibly stubborn and prideful, which is all people may see in him, but I see him as much more than his faults. It is very different to write someone else as being the King, as Thranduil should be the king. ;) My young Thranduil will be undergoing some life altering things in the next chapter, and then you may see the older Thranduil emerging from this younger, untried one. I am glad that there was at least one thing in this to break the tension. Oropher can be a charmer, and Tanglinna is good with dry sarcasm. :) I know how you feel about the scene when Tanglinna finds his murdered family. I had a lot of trouble typing that part. I was racing along at a pretty good pace, the words just pouring out and then WHAM! I hit this wall of horror and sat staring at the screen, literally shaking with emotion. As a mother and a wife, I know how I would feel if that were to happen to me. So you are not alone in finding it hard to take.  
  
Angel - Yes, nin mel! That is Tanglinna. If it is any comfort to you it is a picture from Dagorlad. He is not happy at all, and well, I am sorry if it creeped you out! ;) 


	3. Chapter 3 Songs Beneath The Stars Part ...

This chapter is dedicated to Hiro-tyre for her birthday. Happy belated birthday mellon-nin, and may the stars shine brightly upon you! :) I am sorry this took so long, and for the fact that it is a rather sad chapter.  
  
Sorry, folks. No more breathers. :(  
  
Chapter 3 - Songs Beneath the Stars Part I  
  
Author's Note - Lady Fingwaloth belongs to Dragon_of_the_north. And Thank You to Dragon_of_the_north for giving me such a wonderful name for a wicked orc mercenary!  
  
Flashback in ~~  
  
I tried to kill the pain  
  
But only brought more  
  
I lay dying  
  
And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal  
  
I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming  
  
Am I too lost to be saved?  
  
Am I too lost?  
  
~ from My Tourniquet by Evanescence c. 2003 Wind-up Entertainment  
  
Melodic cries of lament rose on the twilit air, a sorrowful theme in the great song of Iluvatar; it was a heartrending melody sung in diverse voices, in many languages, creating an unusual harmony of pain where earlier the clash of crimson-stained weapons and the cries of the dying had been the only sounds. The losses this day had been overwhelming, but none felt them so strongly as the elves of Greenwood the Great. Voices raised in such confidence and defiance at the dim birth of the day were lowered now in indescribable sorrow and disbelief at its dying. Blood-stained hands had laid aside the implements of war and death to gather this accursed land's blackened rocks to form the hasty cairn that would cover their dead; hands made for the crafting and shaping of beautiful things set about this sad task of war. Their grieving hearts struggled to overcome what had swept down upon them in such a violent and unforeseen way, for Death had courted them, taking the hardiest and brightest of Greenwood's fair warriors.  
  
The healers, wearied by the day's endless work, moved quickly about the camp, saving those they could, feeling torn and mourning the seeming futility of their job. They knew that those they helped to recover today might be the ones to fall on the morrow, and their hearts ached with this irony while hovering friends and family members sang those beyond the healers' skill to mend as they went to their deaths with soft voices choked by grief and anger.  
  
Heledir was carefully wiping Filigod's fair face with a damp cloth, the long spill of the youngling's pale hair matted with dried blood. Heledir's voice rose in a keen wail of misery as he sang, his grey eyes filled with burning rage and piercing anguish. He hoped the host of Sauron could hear him where they had retreated into their dark tower, for he wanted them to hear what he felt and tremble beneath his wrath. A judgment was laid upon them this day, one that would be exacted by all who sang here this night, mourning for the lost. His thoughts went to his mother, who would be shaken by the loss of her youngest child, and Heledir felt a stab of guilt. He had been unable to do the one thing that he had vowed to her before they departed: he had been unable to protect his little brother from the ultimate price of war. His voice wavered and nearly died away as he thought of this, his failure, but then he clenched his hands, calling up the anger once more, and his voice sounded clearly through clenched teeth as he spat his defiance and hatred toward Barad-dur.  
  
Kneeling beside him was Bronadui, his pale grey eyes wide with shock as he laced shut the cloak that was wrapped about Filigod's cold body, unheeding of the tears that flowed so freely down his pale cheeks. The horror of the day before was nothing compared with what had happened this day; today he had seen those that he knew and loved cut down like stalks of dry grass. He knew now what despair could mean. Filigod had been his friend since earliest childhood, and the two had advanced from mere novices to young warriors side-by- side, proud of their accomplishments, bolstering one another when one of the masters was displeased with the way they had performed, and speaking of the elf maidens they fancied beneath the stars. The two had been standing beside one another this morning, their arms just touching, each drawing comfort from the other's presence, as two young warriors faced war for the very first time. They didn't need to speak of how they felt, of the fear that gripped them, squeezing the breath from them, making their hearts labor in their chests. They knew that they felt the same overwhelming emotions, and it brought them a measure of consolation, a small peace in this land that scorned such feelings. Then Filigod had fallen, spitted on an orc's long spear, a look of stunned disbelief on the young face as he dropped to his knees before the one who had slain him. Innocence had died with him. It was with trembling fingers that Bronadui tied off the knot of the cloak just below Filigod's throat, and gently brushed the chill marble of his friend's face in farewell.  
  
Heledir and Bronadui were not the only warriors that were mourning this night. So many had fallen, and even now their comrades were singing their names to the stars which none of them could see. Arasceleg stood outside Oropher's tent, one arm wrapped about his own injured body, his deep voice calling out the names of the slain, hoping that the Valar were listening in their carven halls.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A flash of silver light knifed through the blackness that surrounded him, and he drew a ragged breath, the pain that blossomed across his body radiating from low on his chest. This brought him violently into consciousness and the awareness that something heavy was pressing him to the stony ground, for he could feel the small rocks digging sharply into his back. He held his breath now, as the stench of death was nigh overpowering. He cracked his eyes open, and for one panicked moment he feared he was blind. A harsh cough shuddered through him, causing more pain, his head throbbing unmercifully as though one of Oropher's prancing stallions had kicked him in the head repeatedly. He fought to control his laboring lungs as more pain sliced through him. He took scant relief in the fact that if he felt such pain then he was alive. He heard the low hum of nearby voices, and he did feel a swell of relief then, for they were elvish voices. He had not wish to confront any enemies so incapacitated. He opened his eyes once more, the dimness brightening somewhat. He blinked, squinting upward. The voices moved closer, and suddenly the weight that had pinioned him was gone.  
  
"One of Oropher's," a voice said, with a mixture of sadness and disdain.  
  
Oropher! The name cut through him, and he felt the ache of loss tremble across his heart. He heard someone kneeling beside him, and a fair Noldorin face darted into view.  
  
"He's alive," the elf said with a hint of astonishment, his slim begrimed fingers pressing at Tanglinna's neck.  
  
The other Noldorin elf bent down to study the wounded Silvan, surveying the bloodstained tunic and the patterns of red and black that splattered the lean face, making the grey eyes seem feral and otherworldly.  
  
"Can you hear me?" the first Noldor asked, his hands gently probing Tanglinna's ribs and easing the ragged edges of torn clothing away from the wound on his chest. He noted the jagged gash running from across his ribs and stomach from one side to the other, knowing that this particular wound was made by a curved orc sword. He had seen too many similar wounds this day. There was massive bruising that disappeared beneath the clothing, darkening the pale skin, indicating a struggle on the ground perhaps. "You need to see a healer," he said kindly, turning to gaze at his companion who had straightened.  
  
"Help me up," Tanglinna rasped, his throat feeling very dry and raw. He swallowed, causing another cough to rip through him, sending pain shooting throughout his entire battered body.  
  
"I will bring a healer to you," the Noldor said, wondering if he could indeed find one not occupied with the wounded they had already taken back to the camps. He placed a restraining hand on one of the archer's shoulders as he drew out his water bag and helped the Silvan elf to drink.  
  
"'Tis a mere scratch," Tanglinna growled, pushing the hand aside and forcing his body into a sitting position. The pain of his wounds intensified, and he felt a sharp pain flare across his chest. He closed his eyes, grimacing, and prepared himself to stand.  
  
Another memory flashed through his mind: Thranduil's face as he saw Oropher rushing forward before Gil-galad had given the signal to advance on the gathered enemy forces. The look on the prince's face was a mixture of surprise and fear, and would be forever etched in the archer's memory. Thranduil had pulled his sword from its scabbard and raced after his father, as had all of the Greenwood warriors, fierce snarls pulling their lips back, a battle cry rising from many throats into a great and glorious noise of defiance and confidence. It had been splendid indeed, but the price paid for such unheeding folly had been considerable.  
  
Tanglinna shook his head violently to free it from this unwanted scene that played forth. He didn't want these memories now . . . not now. He instantly regretted the movement as the pain shuddered through him, and he closed his eyes against its rush. He was amazed that such a simple, normal gesture could bring such physical agony. The archer felt the sorrow in his heart increase as he recalled once more, against his will, the mad dash toward Sauron's forces; his heart felt shredded again where once it had begun to heal. He feared that if he thought on this any more he would not be able to withstand or resist the despair that came winging over him too closely on the heels of his other losses.  
  
~Oropher! ~ he cried out silently; even his mind's voice sounded ragged and defeated, beyond any hope. ~Oropher . . . . ~  
  
"Help me up!" he hissed angrily, feeling the hot bite of tears in his eyes, despising the fact that his emotions were showing too strongly before these elves of Gil-galad.  
  
The Noldorin warriors exchanged glances, one sneering openly and muttering about the stubbornness of Silvans bringing about their downfall. Tanglinna's eyes narrowed dangerously as he grasped the other's forearm and stood shakily. He drew in a sharp breath at the pain that surged with a renewed vigor through him, making him clamp his teeth over his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, his body bending slightly as dizziness made the world about him swim in and out of focus. He lifted slender, dirty fingers to the deep gash on his left temple. His chest throbbed with every heartbeat and he could feel the slow warm trickle of blood as the wound opened anew.  
  
The desire to merely lie back on the pitted, bloodstained ground and stop breathing, stop this pain now, put an end to this terrible day, was nearly overwhelming. He opened his eyes, watching as tears and blood dripped to the dirt at his feet. A flash of bright metal lying beneath the dead body of an orc he had slain before falling himself caught his eye. He pulled away from the Noldor's helpful grip on his arm and bent, tilting forward, one hand planted on the rocky soil to keep him from falling onto his face. He used the other hand to slide the blade from beneath the body of the foe. It was Celair-Dagnir, his bright sword. The blade's point had broken off and he stared at it in dismay. It seemed that even the strongest weapons could shatter in the heat of battle.  
  
~Oropher, nin aran, ~ he thought desperately, his distress rising once more. ~Nin mellon! ~  
  
He stood before these sorrowful thoughts could overtake him, wincing once more at the pain, but the pain in his body helped to erase the darker ache in his heart for a time. His gaze turned to where the Greenwood encampment was, though he couldn't see it through the thick haze of smoke and ash; such a bleak landscape, bereft of all hope and life. He wondered vaguely, with a glance at the sky, if the stars ever shone here. His own stars were dimming one by one.  
  
"I need to see . . . ," his voice faltered and more treacherous tears spilled over his cheeks, "the king." A new king . . . not Oropher . . . .  
  
"Your king is dead," the sneering Noldor said, his gaze mildly contemptuous, leaving Tanglinna no doubt about this one's feelings about what had happened this day.  
  
The archer ground his teeth together in sudden hot rage, his lips twisting in anger, one bloodstained hand curling into a fist as he shoved his sword into its scabbard, knowing that if he held the weapon much longer he might use it to slay the other elf. He had killed elven-kind before when the sons of Feanor had attacked Doriath, destroying the place that had become his home. Yes, he had killed then, and he could again. He glared at the Noldor who had spoken so callously, watching with mute satisfaction as the other backed away, his eyes widening in uncertainty beneath Tanglinna's wrathful Silvan gaze.  
  
The silver-haired archer pivoted then, moving away from the Noldors, forcing his body erect. He would not let them see the pain of his wounds, not those that his body bore, not those that tore at his already ragged soul.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
As Tanglinna walked through the piles of dead orcs and men that had allied themselves to Sauron, he felt the song of despair renewed within his spirit. The loss was too great, the old feeling of failure, of his lack of that ephemeral something that should have been able to prevent this somehow, assailed him, making his breath come in great gulping sobs of dismay and anguish. He choked on the vile air, the stench of the bodies being burned making it hard to breathe. He could make out the huddled forms of healers bent over patients too injured to be moved back to the camps, their faces lined with weariness and sorrow as well as determination and anger that such evil had been done this day.  
  
Tanglinna stumbled over a spear handle still embedded deeply in the body of a fallen orc. He fell to his hands and knees, the agony of his wounds throbbing with the jolt of the impact. He curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped about himself, forehead pressed to the unforgiving ground. It would be so easy to just stay here, to give up to the pain and pass beyond it into what awaited at the Halls of Mandos.  
  
But he couldn't. Too many had fallen this day and he would be needed when the fighting renewed. He forced himself up and continued to walk slowly toward his goal.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
~~The child sat curled in the corner of a secluded garden in Doriath, hidden beneath a twining vine strung with small lights of blue and silver. The vine climbed up skillfully carved pillars to form a rich green retreat, comforting to an elfling raised in the forests, an elfling who lived every day with the grief and fear of what had happened to bring him to this strange place. He knew that he could be alone here, for solitude was what he craved, even as it filled with loneliness and dread. It was night, a time when elflings of his tender years should have been slumbering in elvish dreams. The child had not slept much since their arrival here unless he drank the tea that his mother had made for him. He had taken it only a few times before realizing what it did: sending him into sleep and unwanted dreams. It was the dreams that he tried to escape, dreams of pain, death, and a guilt that was slowly crushing his spirit.  
  
They had been here for barely a week, and yet it felt to the child as if a lifetime had passed by. To him, his life had fled. The life of comfort and safety that he had known was gone; all happiness and love had departed, leaving him only despair, loss, and the guilt. The ache in his young heart was a ragged, open wound that tore at him day and night, and as he sat beneath the protective plant he began to weep as though his heart were broken, for indeed it was. Malhesie was gone, and it was his fault.  
  
The words the orc had spoken to him burned in the child's heart and mind: "If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive."  
  
Oropher had been the one to find him, hearing a child's muffled forlorn sobs as he plucked fresh herbs for Auriell. The Sindarin elf had been perplexed as to where the sounds originated, as he didn't see anyone else in the garden. He was drawn to the child's hiding place of twining vines, creeping silently from the path to kneel by the pillar. He thought that perhaps an elfling had become lost, and once the child had been found and taken home to loving arms and soothing familiar voices all would be well.  
  
He peered beneath the tangle of vines, one hand resting gently on the pillar. Seeing nothing he bent to his knees and crawled inside the verdant tunnel. At its end he saw the huddled shape, the slim body wracked with trembling emotion. It was the long silver braid that told him the child's identity.  
  
"Tanglinna?"  
  
Oropher was surprised by the response his voice had on the child, for a slim blade had suddenly appeared in Tanglinna's slender, trembling hand and the young face filled with sudden ferocity and fear.  
  
"Tanglinna? All is well, youngling. I am not going to harm you. Why aren't you abed?"  
  
Tanglinna stared at the golden-haired Sindarin elf for a moment, then slowly shook his head, wiping roughly at his wet cheeks and lowering the blade.  
  
"What is wrong, hen-nin (my child)? I am not going to harm you," the tall golden-haired elf repeated quietly. "I am Oropher. You remember, don't you? We met the day you arrived?" Oropher noted the tension slowly receding, and he smiled kindly. He watched the way Tanglinna's silvery eyes slid away guiltily as the knife disappeared back into the boot top. "Do your parents know you are here?"  
  
Tanglinna shook his head, pulling the long braid he wore over one shoulder as he eased from his protective crouch to sit on the flower strewn grass, his slender fingers twining and knotting and pulling on the blue wrapped ends of the multitude of tiny braids that made up the one thick plait, the slender shoulders slumping.  
  
Oropher knew that he would need to tread carefully or Tanglinna would flee; he noted the hollowed, haunted look on the youngling's down-turned face and felt his heart go out to this sad, lost child. He had heard of the tragedy that had befallen this family, and felt such a pang of regret and sympathy. Auriell even now carried their first child, and he knew how he would feel if anything should befall him, though he was yet unborn.  
  
"That is an interesting braid, Tanglinna. I don't think I have seen anything like it. May I?" he asked, indicating the heavy spill of braided hair.  
  
At the elfling's hesitant nod, Oropher gently took up the long, dangling braid, studying the intricacy of it. He noted how it had been constructed from many small braids tied with blue threads and then plaited into three braids bound with blue beads. These had then formed the last braid, which was tied with a silver cord, leaving six inches or more of the child's hair hanging beneath it. The child had turned his head slightly, and Oropher could see that the silver cord hung from a round clasp of silver and blue that bound back the child's hair from his face.  
  
"This is a very intriguing braid, Tanglinna," Oropher commented with a smile as he released the braid, noting that the child's long fingers clasped firmly about it once more. "How did you learn to make it?"  
  
"Lady Fingwaloth," was the short answer.  
  
"Who is Lady Fingwaloth?"  
  
"My grandmother."  
  
"Ah. So your grandmother taught you."  
  
"No. She taught my mother, who taught . . . Malhesie."  
  
Oropher saw the shimmer of renewed tears in the silver eyes and he frowned. Malhesie, he knew, was the youngling's dead sister.  
  
"Malhesie taught you," Oropher concluded, gently reaching over to place a warm hand a slender shoulder. "She must have been a very good sister."  
  
Tanglinna's bottom lip trembled and the tears spilled over his cheeks as he nodded. Beneath his hand, Oropher could feel the child trembling as he struggled to control himself. The Sindarin elf felt a moment of panic. What was he to do now if the child started sobbing once more? He wasn't quite certain how to handle crying children, though it had been compassion that had brought him here in the first place.  
  
"I am very sorry about your sister, Tanglinna," he said, the child's obvious hurt tearing at his heart.  
  
"It was my fault," he heard the youngling whisper in a quavering voice, slim hands moving to clutch at his chest. "If I hadn't missed . . . she would be alive!"  
  
Tanglinna had never before confessed this horrible thing to anyone, not even to his parents, whom he felt would surely be very angry with him if they knew. As soon as the words were spoken he burst into tears, curling into a tight ball on the ground, his tears flowing freely once more.  
  
Oropher had hesitated only momentarily before taking the child into his strong arms, holding him and stroking him until at last the sobs died away and the tears ceased to flow. Slowly he got the elfling to tell him the story of what had befallen that evening when he and his sister had been attack by a small group of orcs.  
  
From the game of hide-and-seek Tanglinna and Malhesie had been playing in the forest not far from their home, to the moment that his sister had signaled to him to remain still and hidden just before the orcs attacked her, the child held nothing back. Malhesie had killed most of their attackers, her skill with weapons nearly saving her life. But then a large orc wearing a jeweled eye-patch had stepped through the trees, throwing a glittering knife into her arm and causing her to drop her own bloodied blade; he then moved to engage her, wounding her further. Tanglinna had worked up the courage to shoot an arrow at the orc from his perch in the oak tree over them. The orc had fallen and Tanglinna had been certain that it had died, and he immediately joined his sister on the ground. She had told him to run for help, but even as he was about to do so another orc stepped forth and grabbed the child. To the youngling's horror, the orc he had shot then rose slowly from the ground, pulling the arrow from its shoulder and snarling fiercely. It grabbed the child by the hair and thrust him cruelly to the ground, ordering the other orc to pin the child's hands to the ground above his head.  
  
Oropher could feel the child begin to tremble at this point, knowing that this time it was not with grief, but fear of what had happened to him. The golden-haired Sindarin elf knew from the child's description of this particular orc that it had been the infamous Sgurush, a mercenary that hunted down any quarry for pay. He wondered briefly why this monster would have been sent after this child and his sister, but he didn't ask, knowing that the child probably didn't know himself. Instead, he began to rock Tanglinna slowly back and forth on his lap, feeling the child nestle against him, the shoulders hunched protectively.  
  
"He marked you?" Oropher queried, knowing that if it were indeed Sgurush, the Dark Mark, then the child might very well be scarred for life. It seemed that this infamous beast carved the first two letters of his name into his victims so that others would know whom to credit with the kill. He had done it with a special concoction that left a blackened mark on the skin of the victim, the 'dark mark' that didn't fade. When Oropher had first heard this he had been amazed that orcs could be smart enough to use letters or concoct such vile poisons. It seemed he was wrong, for Sgurush became one of the most feared names ever uttered. It was said he was clever and cruel, and anyone that he hunted down died horribly, marked with his sign.  
  
Tanglinna had looked up at him then, not understanding what he meant. Oropher then asked if the orc had wounded him in any way. The child's silver head had dipped then, no longer would he meet the other's eyes. Slowly he nodded, and Oropher noted that the slender hands moved to clutch the front of the child's tunic once more, and a shudder ran through the slim body.  
  
As the story began to unfold once more, Oropher learned that while Sgurush marked the child, Malhesie had staggered to her feet and stabbed the orc holding her little brother's wrists so cruelly to the ground as the child screamed in pain at what Sgurush was doing to him. Anger had crept over Sgurush's features as his last comrade fell dead. He released the child and lunged for Malhesie, grabbing her from behind and holding his dagger to her throat, muttering threats into her ear even as she urged Tanglinna to run. Tanglinna had moved to her forgotten bow and grabbed up the arrow that Sgurush had pulled from his shoulder and nocked it, shaking like a leaf in a violent wind. The orc had laughed at him then, ignoring Malhesie's weak struggle against him.  
  
"If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive." And then Sgurush had killed Tanglinna's sister, her life's blood spurting over his hands as he slit her throat.  
  
"What did you do?" Oropher had asked quietly, stroking the silver head that lay buried against his shoulder. "Did you shoot him again?"  
  
Tanglinna nodded. This time the arrow had not missed. He shot it into Sgurush's one good eye and killed him; the orc's body had toppled to the ground with Malhesie still held in his grasp.  
  
The child's tears came once more and Oropher, marveling and torn by what this child of no more than six summers had told him, held him close.  
  
"You were very brave, Tanglinna," he murmured into the child's hair. "Very brave indeed. I hope that one day my son will be as courageous as you are." Though he sincerely hoped that his son would never have to face such peril or heartache. ~~  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
And upon the battlefield of Dagorlad, Oropher's son had proven himself courageous in the face of peril; even as on that battlefield he became the king of Greenwood the Great as his father fell beneath the foes' weapons, his body torn apart by their cruel weapons. One warrior, battered and bruised, slowly made his way toward the tent where Thranduil sat, grieving and frightened about what had happened and what now lay ahead. Tanglinna knew how he felt. Thranduil needed him, just as he had needed Oropher so very long ago.  
  
TBC  
  
A HUGE heartfelt thank you to al my beta! I am glad that I finally got it right! :)  
  
A heartfelt thank you to Dragon_of_the_north for reading this over. . . and over. . .and over. I don't know why you do it. :) I also want to thank you for taking this rather persistent Master Archer into your heart! :)  
  
I split this chapter into two separate pieces as it was growing much too large and there was still too much to say. I also felt that Thranduil deserved his own chapter in which we see a new king coming to terms with the life that has been thrust upon him in so unexpected a manner.  
  
The use of "it" and "he" to describe Sgurush was done purposefully. I used "it" when it was Tanglinna's perspective as I thought that he would think of the orc as "it," whereas the rest of the time "he" is used.  
  
Response to Reviewers  
  
Nilmandra - This has been an emotional story for me. I don't usually put myself or the characters through the wringer like this. Choosing to live when we know that we may be hurt again can be very hard, but it is the right choice. I am pleased that you like my characterizations. I spend a lot of time in their "heads".  
  
Dragon_of_the_north - :/ Surely those 5 emails about that last chapter weren't all from me!! ;) I had to laugh at your not wanting Oropher to die if it wasn't canon. I would like for him to live too. I have become very fond of this prideful Sindarin king. You know I couldn't leave any tension between the three main characters, not with Oropher's death looming on the horizon, and for many other reasons you may be able to surmise. Tanglinna is a very responsible and reliable person, and yes, his sense of failure is very deeply rooted. You can see where it begins in this chapter.  
  
daw the minstrel -It is very hard, for me at least, to make things seem so very elvish. I am quite human I fear and having you say that I made something elvish made me very happy! :) I take comfort in the fact that Tanglinna will be reunited with his family one day as well.  
  
MadMaddie - I feel sorry for the warriors and their families as well. These separations would be very hard on all of them. :(  
  
ember - You are almost right! Heledir, Filigod's brother is Tavor's father. And unfortunately your brain did not make up the fact that Oropher suffered needless casualties. :(  
  
Jay of Lasgalen - This isn't my usual fare, so I have been pleasantly surprised by the response it has gotten. I find that I like Oropher quite a bit, even though he can be rather pig-headed at times.  
  
None - Wow! I made someone cry! That is amazing, and made me quite pleased! Usually I am busy trying to make people laugh! You can't believe how thrilled I was to have you call this beautiful and sad!  
  
Angaloth - I am pleased beyond belief that people are "enjoying" this story. It has been quite an emotional experience for me to write it. It is interesting to explore the characters, both canon and OC's, in a different way. I had to laugh at your comments about understanding who Tanglinna is and why he acts as he does. Yes, I have spent a lot of time "inside his head" lately to learn the who and why of him. And yes! I am very lucky that Dragon_of_the_north has done what she has done for Tanglinna and Brethil! :)  
  
erunyauve - Brethil is a lot like his father. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. I am glad that you like my portrayal of Oropher. I find that I like him too. He must have had a very charismatic personality to achieve what he did, not to mention a great determination.  
  
Hildestohl - I am pleased to hear that you are an artist! I was thrilled when Katharine the Great gave Tanglinna that talent. I am glad that you like my more "intense" work. It has been quite an experience for me. Intense is the perfect word!  
  
JastaElf - I am sure Saeros, Tuilinal, and Aikalerion are ready to kick butt and take names! ;) It is comforting to know that! I wouldn't want to be a clanking Noldor either. I think I snorted a bit when I read "Tanglinna. . . who has been there dealt with it more than any Elf should have to do . . . " I don't believe I have put him through nearly what you have put certain elves through! ;)  
  
Kal - Yup. Oropher died. :( It is very sad and very tragic! But Tolkien killed him not me. I am such a sucker for happy endings I probably wouldn't have had him act so foolishly, bringing about his own demise and that of so many of his warriors.  
  
Gwilwileth - Yes. I played poker in class! Don't fret over the spelling of Tanglinna's name. It is an odd one. Tanglinna has had an entire life that few know about. Bits and pieces of it appear here and there in my fics and probably will continue to do so. I am sorry that all the other kids on your VICA trip were LOTR haters! :(  
  
WeasleyTwinLover1112 - I don't know that Kleenex is going to be necessary. If I can make you feel sad, I will be happy. :/ Odd statement that. :) It would be very hard to not come to like Oropher. I am very attached to him myself!  
  
Venyatuime - This one is sad, and I am not used to writing sad, angsty things any more. It has been too long and I am sorely out of practice! I am glad that you find it touching. :)  
  
Karina - I admit that I am a sucker for what bits of happiness I can get in this tale. They are few and far between. Two-thirds of Oropher's people did not return with Thranduil to Greenwood. Very tragic odds indeed! :( I am trying to make Oropher believable, and yet retain what little we know about him. There is such very scant information on him in the HoME books.  
  
Elena - This is indeed where Oropher dies. Thank you for your compliments on my characterizations. I admit that I enjoy imagining these people and they seem very real to me. I use the bits of humor to help me get through this horrible battle. It was very hard to write what happened to Tanglinna's family, so I am glad that I was able to convey what was needed in a few sentences.  
  
PuterPatty - Than you for the wonderful compliments! They meant a lot to me. :) Oropher knows Tanglinna very well, and has for a very long time, and I think that is why he felt he could lay this charge on him. He knows his friend's strengths and weaknesses, and just what to do and say to get the desired response. In this case it was necessary to push the limits of their friendship.  
  
the evil witch queen - This one is a most depressing read! Oropher is very stubborn, Thranduil must have gotten it from somewhere. As to wounds, well. . . this is war, but neither Thranduil nor Tanglinna will be wounded fatally.  
  
Lindon - Standardized Testing is NO FUN! I am glad they are now behind you! I like your phrase "Tanglinna time" very much! This has been an interesting story for me to write. I enjoy exploring the characters and learning more about them. Tanglinna as an elfling in this chapter was not so fun or funny, but necessary to understand just how well Oropher and Tanglinna know one another. They have had a long relationship, and seen each other at their best and their worst. Tanglinna views Oropher as his best friend. I laughed at your saying that you viewed Tanglinna as a superhero. He is very flattered by this! ;) But he has his flaws. . . he just won't admit to them! ;)  
  
Lutris - I am glad that there are some Oropher fans out there. He is sorely overlooked. I have a couple of stories planned for him in the future. Thank you for liking my "rustic" Wood Elves. :)  
  
sinbin05 - Thank you so much! I really appreciate your comments on this stories beginning. I was rather pleased with how it sounded myself, and it is so nice to know that you thought so too.  
  
Hiro-tyre - Sorry this took longer to get out than I thought, mellon nin! I hope your birthday was wonderful! Your review stunned me! I am glad that you liked "Thranduil hour" as it will kick into high gear next chapter. The Unfinished Tales contain the most comprehensive vision we get of Oropher, whom I admit I have grown very fond of. There isn't much on Dagorlad out there either; more's the pity! Happy Belated Birthday! :)  
  
Lirenel - Thank you so much! I am glad that I can evoke such an emotion in my readers! I always like to be "taken into the story" when I read, so I really appreciated your comment about feeling like you were there! 


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